Amnesia Justine: Alois' Rose
by A-Mae-100
Summary: Alois is my favorite suitor, and this is from his point of view expressing his love for Justine, and how she is, in other words, his rose.


AloΪs' Ballad

When did it ever get like this? When did the joy suddenly fade into pain; when did all the warmth I felt suddenly become eclipsed by sorrow? I cannot express enough how often I trace back to the days when it was just she and I, just me and her perfect smile...that angelic yet equally terrifying grin that I lived for, that I would do anything for…that I would kill for. Perhaps that is why it was pleasure and not horror that coursed through me when she asked me to do the deed…in that voice that paralleled the chords of a choir, yet still held the lash and burn of fire.

No words can explain that night, nor can any convey the eerie cloud of doom that followed me throughout. My task was simple, so simple in fact, that it seemed odd that she could not do it herself. But I did not question her…no… I dared not question her, for if I had, I risked losing that beauty that struck me whenever she entered the room; I risked losing that bittersweet joy that I clung onto with my very life. No questions, only actions, and the swiftest for my lovely Justine.

Malo did enjoy his wine; he was indeed a French man, so that was to be expected. There was no question that he would be having a glass before his evening performance, as he always did. I pulled the cork from the bottle with delicate ease, smiling to myself as the strong aroma of the drink filled my senses. Malo's violin sat not far by, wood polished and gleaming in dim candlelight, reminding me that I hadn't much time to complete my task before he would return.

I hastily pulled a flask from my inside coat pocket, admiring the thick, syrup-like liquid before holding it to the wine glass. The substance collided with the red wine before disappearing, disguised but still potent in the drink. Oh, how proud she would be of me, of how quickly, thoughtlessly…mercilessly I had done this. I smiled despite a rising sense of nausea that pooled in my stomach, and upon hearing footsteps, I exited backstage to retire to my seat in the audience.

What a lovely show it was, watching the third suitor stumble upon the stage, striking his instrument with bow in a series of harsh tones, listening to the roars and laughter of the audience…what a thrill, what a joy! What could possibly describe the confused rage that escaladed in his face, and how could one come to fathom the humiliation he must have felt, dashing his most prized instrument upon the floor? My love was beside me, but she did not smile, but watched. She watched with those eyes, piercing and potent as they were, but the smile that I so desired would not appear.

I turned to face her, my voice ringing out in a way that surprised myself as I asked, "Have I done as you asked? Have I not done well…?"

She directed her flaming gaze at me, sending that jolt of electricity through my limbs as her stare always did. Her lips curved into a delicate, but not satisfying half-smile and she murmured in return, "What have you learned about yourself by doing this? About your nature…about your ways? Are you not ashamed?"

She said nothing else, but walked towards the stage, leaving me in my own sorrow, my fists clenching and teeth grinding together uncomfortably. I was not good enough. Again and again I had failed her, and once more I have proven unworthy of her praise. I was unclean, filthy, and disgusted with myself; I was disgusted with my being, with the very blood that flowed through my veins.

That night I sought to purge myself of the evil that she saw in me…to punish myself for my horrid deeds. That is how she found me, bleeding from my wrists, hands and arms, sprawled upon the floor of my room, deserving of the pain that I brought upon myself.

She took my bloodied hand in hers, looking upon the marks of my sins that I had inflicted. Then, she spoke, and for that moment, time was suspended as I was overcome by her voice. I remember those words, that request she whispered to me, as if I were hearing them for the first time. Plain, simple, and beautiful from her lips, she said, "A rose in a garden of thorns will wither."

Never had anything been so clear to me. I clung to her desperately, my eyes spilling tears of a nature that I could not distinguish…were they out of joy, or fear of what was to come? Through my clouded eyes I saw her smile…my rose, Justine, whose happiness withered under thorn, and whose strength could be found in the nourishment of my blood and tears. It was for her that I would destroy the thorns that preyed upon her, and it was for her alone that I would be willing to bring my fellow suitors to destruction.

It was as if my hands acted by themselves as I was propelled only by my love for her…as if I was under a curse that I had no hope, nor will, to escape. When I entered Basile's room, everything became blurred and ran together. I can only remember the sound of the metal rod I had retrieved crushing the back of his skull, not killing him, but spraying my hands and face with blood.

My rose watched as I bound his hands and feet, and she stood behind me, whispering in my ear, though I was distant…too far away in my thoughts to hear what she said. I simply felt her breath hot on my ear, and I smiled, turning around, bloody rod still in hand.

Then, suddenly, there was pain. Blood boiled in my throat, and I felt it slip past my lips as I coughed, looking down to see a knife plunged deep into my stomach. Even as I could hardly hear over my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, I heard her whisper to me as my limbs went numb, "Sleep, mon chéri…Sleep…"

When I awoke, I was in chains. At my feet and my arms, metal links like weights were gripping tightly at my skin, and my bare chest throbbed as though it were going to burst. I attempted to cry out, but my throat burned away my screams, reducing them to pitiful wheezes and gasps. I fought with the darkness around me, shaking my head, trying to rid it of the voices, the clinking chains, and the horrible thoughts that plagued me. Breaking past the agony of each wheezing gasp, I finally managed to speak, fumbling uselessly with the chains that bound me, blindly stumbling across cold stone. "Justine! Where are you? Justine! I can't see…! Why can't I see?"

My gait resembled that of a dying animal, limping along, and I found myself walking at the pace of my own heartbeat, slow and unsteady.

_Thump, Drag… Thump, Drag... _

Thousands of miniscule sounds and noises were caught in my ears, and among each, I could only hear her voice. With no eyes to shed tears, I resolved to more wheezing and rasping, sensations such as hunger and pain far behind me; all that remained was loneliness. Horrible, wretched loneliness…accompanied by an unstill silence, broken only by my own breath and dragging of chains.

Still, I can hear her…calling out to me, eager for my embrace, as I am for hers. Sometimes I worry that it is just my mind that imagines her beautiful voice, but still I run, endlessly tired but refusing to stop until I reach the source.

And so, I will continue to run to her, Justine, my love…

My rose.


End file.
